Boy vs Universe
by DeathMcGunz
Summary: What happens when a boy from our world ends up in Spira? Well, let's just say that it's not all smiles and sunshine.
1. The Storm Part 1

**Prologue **

_or, where it all ends_

"Listen to my story…"

On the precipice of a building that once rose high into the clouds, lays a rifle. It looks old, worn, beaten, used, but most of all it looks powerful. It belongs to a gunslinger, one not from the world which this story is being told, but from a world that speaks of other worlds in the form of books, television, movies, ideas.

Next to it, lays blades. Red in color, sharp in stature. They too look like they've seen many a conflict. They belong to the thief, whose heart is more pure than the craft it pursues. There's a connection between these two weapons, for in their future lays a card known only by "Char". Char is death, and that is the truth.

Sticking from the ground, behind the weapons connected by death, stands an 'X'. The 'X' is made from a crossing of swords; two halves from the same whole. They belong to the prince. Beyond it, the two faces of Janus stare off, one into the past, one into the future. Uncertainty clouds judgment and judgment is final.

Under the 'X' lays a helmet, the glass visor cracked at several points, creating a spider web of interlocking paths, each leading to another. It belongs to the leader, a courageous man who trusts few and doubts many. In the reflection of the visor is 'the wolf who howls at the moon'. It sits lonely, uttering its lament, hoping that someone will hear it.

Together they are four; one Gunslinger, one thief, one prince and one leader.

Together they are for; they are for hope and home.

Together they are Fors; chance, luck, random, destiny.

"This may be our last chance."

**Chapter One**

_The Storm, Part One_

1.

"Your old road is rapidly agin'  
Please get out of the new one if you can't lend your hand  
For the times they are a-changin"

John strummed on his guitar, trying to keep time with the song that was coming through his laptop's speakers. His guitar strings vibrated and hummed the tunes that sounded so sweet to his ears, even if they were off-key. He bobbed his head and tapped his heel against the dark green carpet, making barely-audible thumps as his fingers switched from a C to a G then back to the C.

"Oh the times, they are a changin'!" He belted, his voice unfaltering, staying smooth and elegant. He sang the next verse, speeding up the pace until his hand was aching. His whole body was moving with the music, the beat in his mind was rampant, his heart pounding with it, sweat forming on his brow, his fingers feeling like they were going to crack and bleed before he strummed one final chord and began to yell.

"Oh the times, they are a…"

His door opened and he tensed up, tossing the guitar onto his bed and kicking his chair up onto two legs. In his own mind he thought he could ride off the noise on his laptop, even though it was nowhere near as loud as he assumed he had been. _My grandma's old though,_ he thought to himself, _she won't know the difference_.

Then he falls backwards. His chair sliding out from under him just like teachers always warn kids about. He fell to the carpet and hurriedly put his arms behind his head just as the door is opened the entire way. John looks to his grandma with a odd smile on his face. She adjusts her glasses, the look her face asking "what the hell?"

"I just came to say breakfast is ready," She looked at the guitar on his bed and a smile came to her face. "Bob Dylan was always a favorite of mine."

John's cheeks went red, and he nodded his head until she left, shutting the door behind her. He let out a cartoonic gasp-of-relief before rolling out of the chair onto his knees. The 'Dylan' song had long ended on his lap top so he just lowered the screen to a close and stood up, heading down stairs for breakfast.

It was delicious, to save you the boring details. He ate his fair share and went out the door, his book bag slung over his shoulder. It was a cloudy morning, a light drizzle kissing the air, and it all felt good on John's skin. The cold woke him up and water seemed to soak him without actually getting him wet. It simply felt good. The sun had been blazing overhead for the previous two weeks since school had begun, making the daily walks to and from horrendously tiring.

A mile there, two miles back. It wasn't that the ground expanded throughout the day, John just liked to take the path that led him down the rail road tracks on his way home. It was more scenic, he'd say. But really it was just a nice waste of time. If he stopped off by the gas station to grab a snack, then went by the park and eat it, he wouldn't get home till four thirty, give or take.

Since the weather was making him feel a sense of well-being, he began thinking of extending his route home even further. He thought of roads and patches of woods that were scattered around the town. He thought of stopping by a restaurant and having an actual meal instead of just a snack. His mind went all over the place, following the path most minds follow; the path of 'Fors', or chance.

Eventually he found himself walking through the parking lot of the large school that stood as a pinnacle of knowledge for the entire town. From where he was he could see the gymnasium, both the outdoor and indoor one, and the two story library that, while being owned by an individual, was attached to the cafeteria, allowing students to have easy and relatively free access. The building was made of a type of brick that reflected a fair deal of the light that came towards it, giving it a dull shine on most days.

A large clock that was suspended on a tower that stood high above the school said it was "7:20". A small smile spread across his face. His hand reached into his back pack and pulled out his CD player. Just enough time for a couple songs before the bell, he thought, pressing play and listening to the first song to come on. It was the "Foxboro Hottubs", a punk band that played the kind of music John liked to hear when he didn't want to think about anything else.

The song played through the first bell and ended just as he shoved the CD player into his locker, grabbing his books in return. He went through his classes just like he did every other day. He took his seat in the front row, laid out his notebook and the class's respected book, took his notes (usually accompanied with a few crude doodles) and made his way through the hallways when the "end-of-class" bell chimed.

A few kids' shoulders found their way into his side and a few 'traffic' jams halted him and almost made him late, but all around the first half of his day went as normal as any other. So when the final bell of the day went off, ringing through the halls, John left the school feeling ok.

With his book bag in check and his headphones hugging his head, John began to walk. His path wrapped him around the school where he crossed the football field, hopped a fence and found himself by the railroad tracks. The Foxboro hottubs kept crooning their punk-rock melodies in his ears as he sauntered down the rails, his mind still following the path of 'Fors'.

"Hey, kid!" John didn't hear and continued walking. A tall, lanky kid with dirty hair and a couple friends began walking towards the boy with the headphones. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you!"

John still didn't hear.

The kid shoved his hands into John's back, knocking him forward onto his knees. John's headphones popped out as he stuck out his hands to brace the fall; they scraped against the wooden ties, several splinters digging into his palms. The tall kid and his friends laughed as John let out a little grunt of discomfort.

"We were just gonna ask you for you's money, but since you ignant, we's think we deserve a bit more." The friends laughed, each one sounded a bit dumber than the last.

"I, I didn't hear you. I was listening to my…" The tall boy held out his hand, like he wanted something.

"Give it to me." John raised an eyebrow and the kid shoved him again. "I said, give it to me. Give me your goddamn CD playah or I'll bash your skull against deese rails." The other kids laughed in agreement and each gave their own little shoves.

"No." The kids stopped laughing and looked at their "leader".

"What did you say little freshman?" The tall boy stepped closer to John. There was a spark in his brain when he recognized him as 'the boy that sits in the back of class'. John was at least two years younger than him. "Oh, what am I saying? You're not little! Are you, little fatty?" The others laughed again, repeating the word 'fatty' until the leader began to speak again. They reminded John of one of those cliché gangs in the cartoons he watched, except in real life it seemed so much more dangerous.

"Huh, what did you say, fatty?"

"I…I" John tried to say it, but all that came out were studders. He felt so stupid.

"Oh, little fatty have a tawlkin' pwobwem?" The leader mocked, laughing with his friends some more.

"I said no, Craig." John wasn't sure why, but he felt using the boys name was a good idea. Even though he'd learn that there aren't any good ideas in situations like those. The tall boy, Craig, pulled his face into a mixed look of disgustion and surprise. The others seemed to give a collected gasp as their eyes focused in on Craig instead of John.

"I thought you said you dropped out man?"

"How's this bitch know your name?"

"Craig? I thought your name was Chris!"

"Shut up! Just shut up your morons!" Craig looked furious. His attention turned to John and John knew he had made a mistake. "Listen you little fatty. You either give me everything you've got or I'll kick the snot out of you."

"No, Craig." John felt like a dolt for adding his name again, but he liked seeing how angry it made him. "It's mine, I'm not giving anything to you."

"That's a shame." Craig's face returned to his normal, douche look all at once. "I didn't really want to kill anyone today." The word 'kill' made John's gut clench tight and sink down to his feet. He felt heavy, heavier than even Craig thought he was.

"Get em' Craig!"

"Yeah, show this fat ass who's boss!"

"Yeah, Chris!"

"Better get runnin', fatty. Or you're gonna be in a world of hu…" John's leg found its way into Craig's crotch, dropping him to his knees and allowing John to turn and start running. He got a decent way down the tracks before Craig yelled for his goons to "get that fat ass!"

John was about thirty pounds overweight, much to his dismay, but he was still able to run his way down the tracks. The three goons were gaining on him but he knew the area like the back of his hand, and only after three weeks of living in the city. He hopped off the tracks onto a street that ran parallel with them and then hooked a right. That took him into someone's back yard, and then into another, where he went left, his feet now crunching the gravel of a well used alley.

"Where you goin' fatty?" John heard one of the goons yell from behind him. They sounded closer, but not close enough to warrant any caution. Still, he turned right dashing through two more yards before coming onto another street. His breath felt ragged but he knew it was only a little further before he reached his destination.

But then it was too late. Arms went around his waist and he was dragged to the ground. Then he was flipped on his back, a fist ramming into his gut. John coughed and another fist hit him. At that moment in time it seemed like they wouldn't stop. They just continued, one after another, hitting him in his stomach and chest until they stopped all at once.

John's eyes focused in on one of the goons as he stepped over John and knelt down. He reared his fist back and dropped it right on his face. John closed his eyes to the pain, knowing that more would follow. And they did. Seven firm punched were dealt to his cheeks and forehead, one hit directly in the eye even. Then they too stopped and John opened his eyes again.

"This is from Chris." A spiral of pain rocketed up John's body, holding onto him like a fond memory, as a foot crashed into his groin. John coughed, feeling blood on his lips. The boys laughed their laughs, gave a few more kicks (none near as painful as what he felt in his gut) and then walked off, probably to tend to their 'leader'.

"Fuck you!" John yelled out, not sure if the boys heard him or not. He was in so much pain, his hands gripping at his crotch as he writhed on the ground, waiting for the pain to subside. Eventually it did, but that only let his other pains seep in. Like his eye, and his cheek, and the whole coughing up blood thing. He was sure that wasn't a good sign.

He reached his hand up to his face when he was sure his "twigs and berries" were safe and felt his cheek. He felt blood and a sharp pain so he pulled it back and sure enough, his fingers were streaked with a dark red. His next reactions was to run his tongue over his teeth, just to make sure he wasn't missing any. He wasn't. He let out a sigh of relief and laid back on the ground for a minute.

When the endorphins kicked in he felt light headed. There was no pain, there was only this feeling of being in a dream. He stood up and he was sure he'd fall back down. He'd never felt like that before; in so much pain that he didn't feel a thing. But he was sure that it was similar to being high (something with which he'd heard about on multiple occasions).

He used his body's natural pain killer to start walking and as it wore off the pain seemed to subside as well. His head still throbbed and his gut felt heavy, but when he coughed there wasn't any blood, and his cheek was beginning to clot, so his mind wandered to other things.

_Fors,_ he thought. _That's what my grandma will say when I tell her I was randomly attacked by some punks at school_.

His mind flashed back to a time where he tripped at some park-like place. There had been torn flesh and blood on his knee, it had been very painful for a boy of only seven years. But when the tale had been told to his grandmother she had simply gave a small laugh and said "Fors, all things random or by chance." A lot of the time it seemed like that was just an excuse his grandma made whenever something bad happened, but she used it for good things as well, such as luck, or karma. To her it was all part of "Fors".

He thought about calling the cops, but then he actually thought about it. He'd call, someone would answer and redirect him to the police around his area. That officer would not give a shit, and even if he did, the worst he could do was have a chat with Craig's mother. John wasn't positive, but he had a feeling that any parents that Craig may have didn't really care much for him. That made his heart sink a little.

The sound of engines and tires shook him out of his little stupor. He noticed he was a block from the highway that was the center of the town. On it laid all the gas stations, restaurants and attractions that help fuel the nice-sized-town economy. That had been his destination earlier, before he had been tackled and beaten.

The next hour or so seemed to go by rather quickly and he found himself not remember much of it. He went to Hucks, a gas station known for its obnoxious looking clown face of a mascot, where the attendant got him ice for his face and allowed him his usual snack/drink combo for free. With his Snickers and iced tea in hand he had went to the park, sat, ate and left for home.

When he arrived his grandmother had done what he knew she would do. "Fors," she said, giving a laugh. "It was nice of that man to give you ice though." He went up to his room and laid down on his bed, his head throbbing, his body aching and drifted off into an odd sleep.

2.

_Memories are nice, but that's all they are_

_ "Better to leave things lost." He said._

_We were flying over and I heard something calling to me. Telling me to land._

_ This is the way the world ends…_

His dream was a cascade of colorful scenery and dark, decrepit holes that filled the universe. It was everything, circling around him all at once. Then it was nothing, just blackness in which he floated. Then it was light, bright, thick light, which put pressure, sweet pressure onto his aching body. It pushed him to the ground but dared not push further. For there he stood, one man in the presence of everything.

Then he was drowning.

It was odd because he didn't have to breathe, he just knew he was under water. But then it all hit him at once. His heart beat, his thinking, his breathing; it was like he was turned on right there under a thick layer of water. He sucked in a mouthful of water and swallowed, mistaking it all for air, which made him gag and cough. That only made him want to breathe in more and more.

He felt hands, small hands, on him, they searched for someplace to grab hold of and when they found it, they pulled. The strength in those hands yanked him clear out of the water, into the air and back to the forest floor. He knew it was forest immediately, without even having to open his eyes. It might have been the sounds, but he wasn't really sure if there were any sounds.

"John!" The voice yelled. It sounded familiar, yet non-distinct. "Get the hell up! Come on!"

His eyes opened and the tropical surroundings were there, but there was something in their way. It was a face; one that took him a moment to recognize. It made his heart skip a beat and a smile spread across his face.

"Rikku." He whispered.

Then he was drowning again.

Then he…

3.

Then he woke up. His bed sheet stuck to his back for a moment before relinquishing its grip. The wet feeling you get when you have a terrible nightmare, the kind of wet that soaks you around your shoulders, like water poured from your ears while you were asleep, was the first thing he thought of. Only it was more than just around the shoulders. Where his back had been, on his bed was a wet imprint of it.

"Jeez." He said as he turned to look at it. One mighty breath in and he was calming down, which surprised him because he didn't think he had a nightmare. It felt like a great dream. He felt great. But he also felt afraid. He wanted…

"Rikku." He whispered. There was this sinking feeling in his gut that she should be near him, for comfort, but then it passed. He thought the name again and her face flashed in his mind, like he saw her in the dream. She had been only a few inches from his face, which was a space reserved for his grandma when she wanted to give him a kiss on the cheek or something 'lame' like that.

She looked worried, but in a relieved kind of way. Like she was glad he was alive and at that moment he had been too. When he thought of her like that, so close to him, he felt this lightness in his chest. He no longer thought that the phrase "you took my heavy heart and made it light" was stupid, or only for those gooey romance novels. It was something that people really felt. He felt appalled and relieved (which he'd come to find was the feeling of being in love, or being alive, depending on the situation).

Thunder shook the room as it's brother lightning lit it. Crazy shadows danced around John's room for a moment before expanding to fill the room with darkness again. Rain began its pitter-patter on his window, tipping and tapping to a beat that calmed him even more.

"Rikku," A pause. "From Final Fantasy?" He asked the walls. The ceiling heard him as well, but the question was directed at the walls, with a zero percent chance of a return answer. The walls didn't answer, but someone did…


	2. The Storm Part 2

**1.**

"Yes." John's eyes widened as they darted around the room. The last thing he had expected when he spoke out loud was for someone to answer. "It just so happens that it is Rikku."

"Who are you?" This time John just hoped no one would answer. He found that his heart was racing and he didn't like the rhythm it made. It was cold, pounding and chaotic.

"It begins." A boy, not much older than six, stepped forward out of the darkness. He was shrouded in a well decorated hood and matching robe. His feet were bare and he spoke with a child-like lisp.

"Dude, what the hell?" John scrambled up into a standing position. "What are you doing in here? What are you…what the fuck?" In his panic, John ended up glancing out of the window and froze. He saw individual raindrops paused in mid flight as if all time had stopped.

"Don't cry." The boy said, ignoring any of John's questions. And before John could ask another there was a loud popping noise and then the sound of the sky cracking as thunder split it in two. Lightning lit up the room again, revealing that John was alone. For that moment, he did feel like crying, but it quickly passed.

He placed his head in his hands, massaging is scalp as he tried to figure out exactly what had happened. The first thing that occurred to him was that it was a dream, but dreams didn't feel like that. Dreams were murky, odd, third person. No, what had happened wasn't a dream. Maybe a hallucination, but no dream.

More thunder and another pasty flash of lightning. The storm outside seemed to growl out of hunger, like it wanted to devour the town below it. John looked towards the window and saw the raindrops, big as bouncy balls, slamming against his window with a high pitched thwack. It took him a moment before he snapped his vision away from the window and went back to his train of thought.

He felt frightened, the boy had scared him.

"Don't cry," he had said. What did he meant by that? What did he mean by "It begins,"? What begins? John thought hard, trying to remember anything that might help him. 'Was there something happening tomorrow', he asked himself. 'Is there something I'm missing?'

"Yeah, of course there is. How about the fact that some creepy kid was just in my room saying nonsense? It doesn't mean a thing, it's just…"

Thunder shook his house, a glass of tea sliding from his desk onto the floor and shattering. Again, the lightning illuminated his room and this time John didn't just sit still. He bolted, hopping from his bed to the floor and rushing to his light switch. When he flicked it on, his eyes were already adjusted so he simple looked around, proving to himself that he was still alone.

His door was opened and light spilled out into the tiny hallway, revealing the bathroom door and the stairway that led down into the living room. For some reason he immediately thought that the boy had just slipped out his door and was probably just now getting down stairs.

John began to hurry, taking the stairs in three large leaps. When he reached the bottom his hand found the light switch and turned it up, filling the room with light from an overhead source. He almost said "gotcha" but held his tongue when he saw that it was just his ordinary living room, no one in it besides himself. Instead of speaking he simply sighed and scratched his bare chest.

Thunder crackled somewhere in the sky as John's stomach roared in unison. He stepped through the living room and into the kitchen. He used the light switch and wend to the fridge. In it he spied little to nothing, so he just grabbed a carton of milk, opened the cap and took a gulp before returning it to its spot.

Eyes drooping, John turned to head back up to his room and he almost made it to the stairs when his entire house shook from an immense dose of thunder. Something sparked in John's head, and suddenly he wanted to slide into his bed, curl up into a ball and just wake up. The boy had been from the same world the Rikku from his dream had. He was a Fayth, the Fayth of Bahamut , if he was correct. Just thinking of it made him feel like vomiting. It was like his stomach spun upside down.

"If he's the faith, then that means…" Something told John that he was going to die. He didn't even get to finish his thought before his stomach spun right side up and sunk to the bottom of his body. The 'thunder' shook his house again and this time it was clearly not ordinary lightning; it was breathing.

"Sin…" John whispered to himself, in complete disbelief. His eyebrows raised as if the idea was preposterous and it was. Sin was impossible, that was the end of that. It was a fictional monster from a video game that John had played several times when he was in Jr. High. He was in High School now, he hardly believed in such frivolous thoughts. But that was a lie; one never stops enjoying the idea of life being like fiction. He just liked to think he was above it.

The thunderous breathing from outside shook the house again, knocking china from the shelves and forcing John to grab hold of the wall so he wouldn't topple over. Following the breath was a roar, one which cracked the very ground under John's feet. The roof of his house split into several pieces over his head , revealing something that caused John to urinate where he trembled.

The clouds overhead weren't covering the sky like they normally would. They were wrapped upwards into the atmosphere, in a spherical shape. Lightning protruded from it at random intervals and large rain drops fell from what seemed like nowhere. It was Sin; it was the beast of Spira.

**2.**

When the earthquakes started it was too late for the governor to declare a state of emergency for his town. Buildings began to fall left and right and those who didn't collapse were in need of dire repair. It was estimated that a total of three million dollars worth of damage was done in the initial quakes; thirty thousand dead, another fifty thousand injured.

The governor tried to get a hold of the National Guard, the army, anyone. But the phones were long gone and the tower for the cell phones was in ruins. Those using satellite couldn't get reception either, the large spherical cloud shape above the city seemed to be scrambling any and all electronic devices; like an EMP. Everything seemed hopeless.

But there was one thing that could be done. There was an old, back-up emergency beacon located at city hall. It was a crank siren that could be heard from up to three miles away in any direction. It wasn't amazing, but it was all that could be done. So the governor himself put on a jacket and went out into the storm, running the two blocks towards the siren.

People were in the streets, some running, some hobbling, some laying in rubble, but no matter what they were doing they all had the same look on their face; the look of death. It was like everyone just knew what was happening and a few actually did. Like John, a few of the kids and teenagers had played the final fantasy games. They didn't want to believe it and they didn't even mention it to anyone, but they knew it was Sin.

The governor had to dodge a falling billboard for "McDonald's new, super spectacular Big Mac Combo!" But he did make it to the city hall. It was split right down the middle, a deep canyon now connected the two sides. He didn't believe what was happening, he couldn't.

Then the thunder again. It shook his bones and knocked him forward. His feet slipped on some gravel and that was that. The cavern in the middle of city hall swallowed its first victim. Others would follow, some even on purpose, but on the other side of town, there was still hope.

**3.**

John gripped to the wall until the first quake had stopped. His breath was forcing its way in and out, burning his throat in the process. He thought he was going to have an asthma attack and he didn't even have asthma. There weren't any shoes on his feet and there wasn't a shirt on his body, all he had were his boxers; he felt completely unprepared for whatever was going on.

But he still found the will in him to walk. He made sure to dodge broken glass or other sharp objects on the floor as he made his way back to the living room. Above him, Sin still breathed its thunderous breaths, cracking the sky and buildings with it. The roof to John's home was collapsing down so John picked up his pace, making it to his front door just in the nick of time. He dove out as the roof collapsed.

He looked back with a look of utter horror on his face. His grandma, his grandpa, his entire life crushed by a house he had just moved in to several weeks ago. A tear actually managed to squeeze out of him. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard; he felt his fear go down with his saliva. Climbing up from the ground John's eyes raised to the sphere in the sky. He could see a fin, one larger than anything he'd ever seen before. It was Sin. It was Sin and that's the truth.

Gravity became non-existent. Rubble and people began to float into the air, all of it aimed at the sphere; at Sin. John screamed and tried to grab onto something, anything, but there wasn't a thing near him that wasn't floating into the air with him and the rest of the city.

The higher he got the more he could see and the less he liked. There was a canyon forming in the middle of town, it stretched further and further as bits of the Earth crumbled into dust and rose towards the beast that conquered the sky. John continued to scream, his lungs burning just as his throat had. He felt weak, powerless, but more so than that he felt hopeless.

The full city came into view and he turned away, instantly regretting it. Sin took up his vision, he was beyond the clouds now, so close he could smell the sea that Sin normally stayed in. There were holes dotting its body and the entire city, people and all, were flowing into them like rivers into an ocean. John screamed one last time before he was in blackness.


End file.
